Heated
by Ria Rose
Summary: Sam helps Dean warm up. -Wincest-Sam/Dean-


HEATED

Ria Rose

_Sam helps Dean warm up. -Wincest-Sam/Dean-_

1/1

NC-17/M

WINCEST SMUT- YOU ARE WARNED!

Sam/Dean

* * *

Too tired to continue driving, they stop at the first building they see; an abandoned house somewhere outside of Oneonta New York. There's no heat, no electric, and no running water (though Dean tries his damndest to putz with the breaker box). They roll out sleeping bags and drag in the extra comforter that's so damn old and has been in the car so long it smells like the Impala and is ripe with memories. It may have been white once, but even the frayed material feels soft under their hands and Sam grins when Dean runs his fingers over the soft pullies of thread.

They start at opposite ends of the room and gradually move closer before zipping the bags together and tucking the blanket inside for extra warmth. When sleep becomes an obvious and elusive illusion, they explore.

Once upon a time, the house was a beautiful manor; large with ceiling high windows and lovingly handcrafted borders. Time has aged it beyond those days and what it is now is a sad reminiscence of livelier times when families and love called it home. This is the first time in a long time anyone has stepped inside. Two brothers. A family in their own right and if the house was alive it would be smiling at finally having residents who loved deeper than the animals that occasionally found their ways in-between its walls.

It's just after midnight when Sam makes his way back down the old steps and into the living room where they set up their makeshift bed. Dean is standing by the large bay window facing the road and shivering.

He plays the part of the tough guy well. Sam knows this. But he also knows that Dean sometimes isn't as hard as he seems. Usually. Sam can take the cold to a certain degree. Maybe it's because he's bigger, he's not sure, but when the temperature drops, he's, for the most part, good until it hits the thirties. It's below twenty tonight and he knows it's bitter. He feels his hands going numb and when he scratches his face with his shoulder; he senses the brisk chill of his nose. If he's cold, Dean must be frozen.

His brother's shivers are scary. It's almost as if his whole body starts to convulse; his muscles tighten and he curls within himself, shaking and clenching his eyes shut as if blocking his view would make the cold disappear. It never works and Sam hates to see him like that.

"Dean," he says, dragging the sleeping bag concoction over to the corner, "Dean, come here."

When Dean turns, Sam can see that his lips are turning blue.

"Dean," he repeats, his voice more urgent, "come here. Now."

Dean is too cold to fight. His arms are wrapped around his body, his head low, but he shuffles over to where Sam is shifting the sleeping bags around.

When he sits, his back to the corner, Sam unzips the bags enough to bring them up over his shoulders and to leave room for Dean to be seated in front of him. Knowing that his brother won't do so on his own (male pride and all that), he tugs on the hem of Dean's hoodie to make him sit. Without a word, Dean complies and Sam knows that when his brother doesn't fight, he's in a bad way. Dean does struggle—albeit slightly—when Sam pulls him to his chest but as soon as he feels the warmth of his brother he settles and allows Sammy to zip the bag back up and wrap his arms around him.

Back to chest, they sit, Dean slowly warming up, soaking up the heat from his baby brother's legs on either side of him and the strong chest behind. His head is tucked under Sam's chin and steadily, over the next hour, his shivers decrease before finally stopping all together.

He's lightly dozing, the blanket covering most of his face, when he first feels it.

Sam is hard. Dean can feel it through his brother's jeans, pressing against his own ass and he can tell that Sam is awake by the stiff way he holds himself.

Sam is awake, wide awake, and he is more than a little aware of his stiff cock against his own brother. Dean knows this by the staggered breathing he feels behind him. And he knows precisely when Sam realizes that he too is awake by the sharp intake of breath he makes.

Neither of them has ever thought of this. They have never been any more than brothers and best friends. But the problem with the life that they live, the childhood they had, is the simple fact that to them, there has never been anyone else. Despite Jess or Cassie, Lisa or Amelia, they have always chosen each other. No one had compared. No one had ever come close. What they have transcends everything—_everything!_—around them.

Whether or not it's the natural progressing of things doesn't matter. The sin of incest means nothing. The thought of suddenly having gay tendencies is not enough of a concern when it comes to one another to even warrant more than a passing thought.

It's crazy how logically it all pans out. They'll think about it later, letting society pile blame and guilt on their already weary and spent shoulders and maybe they'll be okay with it and maybe they won't be, but in this one perfect moment, everything is as it should be.

Dean feels Sam's hard on, hears his quick breaths and without a second thought, rocks backward.

He's sleepy. And he's warm. And Sam is everything to him.

There's a hitch in his brother's breath and Sam whispers, "Dean?"

"Sammy." His name, like a prayer, falls from Dean's lips as he shifts his hips once more. "Sammy…"

It's the strangest thing Sam has ever done, but he lets his hand drop and Dean allows a soft moan to break free when its warmth covers his jean clad cock.

"Dean. Dean…Christ, Dean." His fingers move on their own accord, palming over the bulge, drawing illicit moans as Dean presses harder against Sam's chest and lifts his hips. The movements are slow and deliberate and Sam groans when he feels the incredible growth under his hand and when Dean tilts his head back against Sam's shoulder, the younger brother takes the chance for what it is and drops wet, open mouthed kisses onto the soft, exposed skin.

His other hand falls to the button and he works Dean's jeans open, his fingers teasing the newly exposed skin, the dents trailing a 'V' downwards, and the sharp bones in his hips.

"Sammy…" Dean breathes, "please."

That's the all the permission Sam needs to slide down into his boxer-briefs and touch, for the first time, the hard cock of his big brother. It's delicious. His entire hand is engulfed by the warmth it generates and he hums in appreciation to how heavy it feels.

Sam wraps his hand around it and strokes once, enjoying the jolt Dean's body makes when he does so. Dean will have marks on his neck for how hard Sam is sucking on him but every nip, every bite, feels like ecstasy and Dean lets out a guttural moan when Sam begins to jerk his dick , his palm picking up the silky pre-come and spreading it along the engorged shaft.

He can barely breathe as Sam picks up the pace, air puffing from his lungs in short ragged exhales interwoven with delicate moans and gasps. Dean's hand is raised up, gripping Sam's bicep, his fingers leaving bruises of their own and his hips roll upwards, begging for more, pleading for touch, for release.

With his unoccupied hand, Sam raises two fingers to Dean's mouth; his brother sucks them in almost immediately, his tongue slipping between the digits, dragging spit over every inch as he savors the salty taste of his brother's skin.

Sam lifts his head from Dean's neck to watch those pouty lips wrap around his fingers. His own mouth is open and his eyes are dark; he wants those lips on his cock, wants to watch as Dean takes him into his mouth and sucks, wants to see those lips be stretched by his own wide girth.

When he pulls his fingers from that tantalizing mouth, they are covered in slick spit and Sam is able to maneuver his hand down the back of Dean's pants; it's a tight fit bit but his brother spreads his legs enough that Sam can press his wet index finger against the puckered hole. Deans gasps and lets out a long and low moan, his back arching as Sam rubs against it, "Sammy, oh, Sammy…Please!"

"God, Dean," Sam groans as his pushed the tip of his finger inside. There's a hiss of pain while Dean adjusts to the intrusion and it takes a few minutes but Sam is able to work the whole finger inside of him. He'd kill for some lube but they have no choice; spit will have to suffice.

As he slowly works his finger in and out, Sam periodically removes it to dribble more saliva on the digit. Each time he breaches his brother, Dean jolts. By the time he is pushing back on the finger, Sam thinks he's ready for a second one. Throughout this, he's steadily rubbing Dean's cock, cupping and rolling his balls and flicking his thumb over the tip; his brother has leaked so much pre-come that his hand has become slick with it. In a stroke of brilliance, he removes both hands from the jeans and wipes the slippery pre-come all over his index and middle fingers of his left hand. Dean in keening in front of him, his hips undulating in wanton desire, begging—_pleading_—Sam to continue, to touch him again.

When sufficiently lubed, Sam returns his hands to where they were, the two fingers pressing into and invading Dean's succulent hole and scissoring lightly (as much as he can with the restrictions of their position.). It's enough and when he twists just right, Dean's entire back arches and the moan—oh, God, that moan!—that rushes from Dean's mouth has Sam knowing he found his sweet spot.

Dean is panting. His other arm, the one not gripping Sam's, flies up to catch his brother around the neck. "Fuck, Sammy, right there, fuck, please, please, Sammy, please!"

It's uncomfortable, but Dean manages to move his head enough to clasp his lips together with Sam's. It's electric. And Sam shoves his tongue into his brother's mouth, feeling Dean's cold nose and warm lips and owning him, licking up every ounce of his older brother. Against Dean's dick, Sam quickens, gripping harder, pulling faster. In his ass, Sam's fingers are pulsing against his prostate. He knows Dean is close, he can feel it in the way his brother's body begins to tense, the muscles under his right arm clenching and unclenching and in the way his hips rock and heave rhythmically.

He pulls back from the kiss to watch Dean's face. "Dean. Dean, come for me. Show me. Show me how you come." The full lips are parting with huffs of smothered air and the chameleon green eyes are shut tightly. Sam can't have that. "Open your eyes. Look at me. Look at me and come."

And he does. With a strangled moan, he shouts his brother's name and orgasms, his body jerking in its release, his eyes open and glazed over, looking only at his Sammy.

Sam milks him. He doesn't stop his ministrations until Dean is begging him to, that it's too much, too intense and only then does he cease, pulling his fingers from his brother's pliant ass and unwrapping his hand from his spent cock. His lifts that hand to Dean's mouth and watches in dirty amazement as his brother licks his own come from his fingers and palm. It's filthy. Beautiful.

When every drop is gone, he grips Dean's chin and kisses him hard, licking into his mouth and relishing the taste of him, the very essence of Dean Winchester. He tastes like pie and sweat and come, like the lyrics to every Metallica song, every Ozzy song. He tastes like leather and oil. It's fucking perfect.

"My turn." Dean's voice is husky and low, his eyes hooded and dark. He pulls away from Sam, twisting around and Sam can see, in the light of the camper lanterns, the damp spot on his brother's crotch. The jeans, which were never redone, sag low on his hips, teasing him.

His own pants are undone hastily, like Dean cannot wait a moment longer to put his hands on his baby brother and when his dick is tugged out, hot, hard, and heavy, Sam almost comes on the spot. Dean's hands are firm around his cock. Sure and steady. But a hand job isn't what Dean is after and the sleeping bag is unzipped, pushed down, and the cold air that hits his prick is short lived before he's engulfed in Dean's mouth.

Sam can tell that Dean is inexperienced, knows that this is probably the first time he's ever even been with a man, but Dean is a natural. It's sloppy and spit drips down his face and Sam's cock, but _God_ the suction is flawless and the sight of Dean's lips stretched around his dick, his cheeks hallowing with his effort, is almost too much.

Dean hasn't looked up at him yet and Sam is on the verge of commanding him to when those long lashes flutter and he's locked eyes with him. It's so slutty, so defying, so Dean that he can't help but slip his fingers into his older brother's hair and pull. And he can't look away, even if he tried. It's mesmerizing. Earth shatteringly beautiful. Sam can barely stop his hips from lifting, from gently fucking his brother's pretty mouth.

His legs are splayed out with Dean straddling his right one and this becomes apparent when he feels him rocking against it, pressing his renewed erection into his shin, humping it.

"Fuck, Dean…" he raises his knee slightly, giving him some leverage to better thrust against and when he moans around Sam's dick it's too much and Sam's coming, he's grunting and he's coming and it's hitting Dean's face and neck and lips and Sam is seeing stars.

When he comes back to himself, it's to see and feel Dean still gyrating against his leg. He's moaning, his head tossed back as he masturbates himself on his brother. Sam can barely stand it. He wants Dean to come again, craves it like he craves chocolate or rum. But he needs to see.

"Get up." Dean allows Sam to manhandle him out of his pants and briefs and shirt and hoodie, it's still freezing in the room but they are both covered in a thick sheen of sweat and there's still come on Dean's face and when Sam strips quickly, it's only so that he can lick his own spunk off of his brother's face as fast as possible. They share a desperate kiss before falling back to the floor and Sam turns Dean around, shoves his thigh between his legs and bends his knee. Dean doesn't need instruction. He instantly goes back to humping against his brother's leg. Only this time, it's skin to skin and his movements become stilted and unpredictable.

Dean's bare ass is right in front of him so Sam spits on his fingers and shoves two deeply inside of him, searching and finding his prostate. Dean doesn't know which way to move, whether it's back against the fingers or to thrust onto his leg.

Sam uses the moment of indecision to reach under his thigh, tugging at his own dick. His eyes never leave the sight of his fingers delving in and out of Dean's pretty little hole. For his part, Dean is grunting and moaning, letting little high pitched sounds tumble from his mouth as he grips and clings to Sam's leg, his body hunched over the knee as he works himself into an animalistic frenzy.

When his balls tighten, he increases the pace of his movements and all at once he's coming, sending spurts and spurts of come along Sam's thigh, his head flung back as he screams his release.

As soon as he stops moving, Sam pushes him onto his stomach and shoves his dick between Dean's ass cheeks, rubbing up and down, all over the hole, nudging Dean's balls with the head. He ruts, his body draped over Dean's and his hands tight on his brother's shoulders and he slowly loses control until all that's left is the hedonistic desire to hump and desecrate the milky white skin underneath him.

His body convulses when he comes, sending ropes of spunk all over Dean's ass, coating his hole, and splashing onto his lower back.

Sam has a hard time moving after that. But he somehow manages to maneuver himself and Dean back into the sleeping bags and somehow manages to zip them back up.

Dean is already curling himself up against Sam's side like a sated cat, his head on Sam's chest, right over his heart. There's come drying just about everywhere and they both could not care less.

Just before he too drifts off to sleep, Sam thinks to himself, 'Well, that's one way to warm Dean up.'

-End-


End file.
